


Life, Love, and the Lessons Learned Therein

by heroesinahalfshell91



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Comics), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroesinahalfshell91/pseuds/heroesinahalfshell91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unceremoniously crossed paths lead to a romance with the burning passion of an inferno, yet the simple fragility of a snowflake. Centering around a Leo/OC relationship, this is a reinterpretation of the Turtles and their world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The streets were congested, bustling, noisey, and perturbed with that smell oddly unique to this part of New York city. It was part hotdog stand, part damp wool, and always seemed to crop up when you least expected it to. School was out for the day and that fact saw Calliope Greer-Kassem walking home, hood up against the stiff seasonal breezes this time of year was known for. Dad would sometimes pick her up when he wasn't deeply invested in a chapter or alternatively, beating his head against the wall with writer's block. When he was however, and Baba was caught up in his duties as an educator it was up to her own two feet and public transportation to see her safely to the warm, cozy apartment that was home.

Casually dressed and easily lost in a crowd Calliope burned with an inner light and determination to save the world that set her apart from her peers. Reckless, and tenacious to a fault with her causes, she was very opinionated and always had something to fight for, even if the bigger picture sometimes alluded her. From issues that affected her directly such as equality rights for her fathers and adoption to broader, more encompassing ambitions like fighting global warming, and overfishing, she'd been a firecracker from day one.

Still however, Calliope just a regular teenage girl with typical problems like navigating the thinly iced lake that was the school cafeteria, being the subject of bathroom stall graffiti, or passing algebra, the sole bane of her existence.

Headphones on the girl kept a steady pace following the well worn route she knew like the back of her hand. Say what some will about Nickelback, but songs like "If Today Was Your Last Day," and "When We Stand Together" just lifted her mood and got her revving for action.

There was a sudden, short succession of vibrating pulses in Calliope's back pocket making her give a sigh as the music dimmed. What was the point in listening to something if you didn't listen to it at full volume anyway? Pulling out her phone she eyed it's sleek gleaming face, a text from Baba.

"Sorry sweetie, got a lot of grading today won't be home til later." it read, before another came in. He had a terrible and predictabley lame parental habit of sending one sentence per text. "And I don't think we'll be bowling tonight, we've still got more to file."

With the distinctive flaw of being unable to type on her phone and walk at the same time the teen ambled distractedly to the side of a nearby building where she rested her back and allowed her thumbs fly free and unencumbered by the necessity of dividing her attention with spelling and watching where she was headed. "It's cool," she wrote back. "We'll take a rain check. Besides I would have crushed you guys anyways! ;P"

With a tradition of family bowling at least once a month the trio could get fairly competitive, but somehow Calli always had the edge on the old folks. The phone buzzed again, it's owner's face brightening with humor and enthusiasm at the response. "If you don't choke again! XX/X/XX/X"

Laughing at the good natured taunting that could likely be translated into Morris code of it were dots and dashes rather than X and slashes, she shook her head. It was a running joke, Calliope could never get a turkey, always managing to lose the elusive fowl of three strikes gold!

It didn't really bother the girl that they would be unable to go today, she'd much rather her parents kept filing paperwork and fighting the oddly bureaucratic nightmare that was the American adoption system. A blend of hopeful anxiety flooded through her veins as she bounced on her toes craning her head back to look up at a strangely foreboding sterling grey sky.

It wouldn't be the first adoption to crumble apart right beneath their feet, washing the family into the stagnant abyss that was the gripping depression which consistently followed such failure. They were so close this time though, they'd even had play dates with the little boy everyone hoped would soon be a permanent addition to the family, and the perspective big sister for one wasn't entirely sure she could lose out on the silly little boy she'd already grown close to.

He was a little punk, Calli liked to joke. Cheeky and rambunctious as a six year old should be he'd discovered one of the teen's greatest weaknesses early on. Calliope didn't typically have an issue with teeth as long as they stayed in their neatly appointed little rows and she didn't have to look at them for too long, clearly far from dentist material. The instant they began to wiggle or pop out on the other hand and it was kryptonite levels of repulsion. When Andre proud of the accomplishments of growing up attempted to show off to her his loose chompers he soon discovered a good way to see Calli run and began chasing the nervously laughing girl all over the playground chosen as the neutral meeting place. Clearly he was over-qualified for position as little brother.

After thinking for a moment the young woman started up a group message consisting of herself and her parents. Helping win Andre seemed like the one fight Calliope had no real part in despite how much she wanted to. Now with concerns of an "overly blended background" in the family being raised as if because there would be three ethnicities and two distinct faiths in one house someone decided things weren't going to work out after all.

The futility of her efforts seemed to hang about her shoulders in a damp, clinging force of oppression as she typed. If there was one thing she absolutely could not stand it was the sense of uselessness the whole process left her with. As a result she found that removing herself from the situation from time to time was the best course of action.

Giving her parents the heads up that she was going by the animal shelter to see if she could get some volunteer time in, Calliope turned on heel and headed for the bustling roar that was the subway station, drowning out the swallowing cacophony all around her with the harmonic tones of Chad Kroeger's sweet voice.

Bosco was an older dog with stage one cataracts, arthritis, and a distinguished grey fade to the formerly sleek black fur around his muzzle. A lab something mix he'd been a family dog for much of his life, until, unexpectedly he found himself here. He was one of Calliope's favorites, and with a gentle demeanor and a ball fetching tenacity that seemed to be affected very little by his age save for occasional stiffness she had high hopes that a forever home was just around the corner for Bosco.

"Hey buddy!" she called enthusiastically walking between the kennels. Bosco perked immediately and Callie felt a sharp tug on her heartstrings. If things weren't so crazy at home with trying to get Andre and all she would have asked her dads to let her get him. Because really all the old boy needed was somewhere warm and loving to live out the last few years of his life and it just didn't seem fair that he had to spend them here.

The dog whose tail was an instantaneous whirling propeller of happiness and anticipation began to whimper and yelp with excitement, nosing at the latch of the chain link door as he watched the girl approach. His enthusiasm was catching and soon the kennel was filled to the rafters with baying, yipping, and deep baritonous howls. It was what took volunteers the longest to get used to, the deafening melancholic wailing of dozens of dogs each desperately vying for the love and attention of someone, anyone. Some nights the sound invaded the soft-hearted young woman's dreams, as she felt she could never give enough of herself to any of them.

Slipping the loop leash over Bosco's head the girl led the way to one of the small dog runs where potential owners got the chance to interact with any canines they were interested in before signing papers and being trusted with any type of actual responsibility. Once there Calli set the old man loose quickly proceeding to be lavished with wet sloppy kisses and the overjoyed yodel-esque sounds dogs made when reunited with people they considered to be part of their pack.

"Oh I know it!" she laughed roughing behind his floppy ears in between love maulings and smacking her lips against his fur. After she'd regained some semblance of order Calliope reached into the toy bin and produced a well worn tennis ball, obtaining Bosco's undivided attention instantaneously. "You ready to play handsome man, huh? You ready you get the ball? Who wants the nasty ball?" she questioned waving the coveted item about.

With a rush of exhilaration the girl's hands were free and the sharp tak, tak, tak, of dog paws on linoleum could be heard racing away from her. Calliope liked to tease the dog, and call him "warden" when they played fetch for the eccentric way he would go after the flighty object and then punish it for its endeavors seeking freedom. "Oh, was inmate Bouncy bad? Did he get away?" she cooed praising him for a good return.

The duo played together for nearly half an hour before the lab mix began to be fatigued. Promising that she'd visit again soon Calliope went to the clipboard at the far end of the room, logged the twenty-three minutes of play and then scoped out the canines who gotten to enjoy the run least frequently, making a mental list of the remaining time she intended to stay before closing as she did so.

The following hour and a half saw Calliope transformed into a tennis ball throwing, tug rope pulling, belly rubbing, hound praising machine. By the time she'd finished for the day her personal trials all but forgotten she'd spent the quality time so desperately needed with as many of her furry friends as possible. The doors were closing in twenty or so the lights given a brief flicker as a nonverbal cue to pack up, and Calli did. Saying her goodbyes she headed for the door, but not before first paying a quick visit to the Knitting Nanas who were just getting ready to leave for the evening also.

Comprised of elderly women, widows mostly, who brought their knitting, crocheting, or reading with them to the shelter, the Knitting Nanas was a volunteer group that would sit for hours offering the resident felines warm laps to sit in and easy conversation while they worked on their projects. It was good all the way around, Calliope thought, the cats got human interaction and love, and the Nanas got out of the house and a chance to socialize, besides they baked the best cookies anywhere.

"Love you Nanas!" Calli waved ducking into the cat section for a second. The ladies chuckled and waved at their favorite fellow patron, Ms. Presley swearing that one day she'd make a knitter of Calliope yet.

Then once more Calli was walking the beat she knew so well only this time it was dark and cold. Nibbling the inside of her lip with mild apprehension the girl eyed the heavens warily. The smooth grey clouds of late afternoon had begun to build and lump together as darkness fell, descending to hang in low crushing waves over the city it more than looked like rain. Parking her rear just outside the shelter and whipping out her cell Calli put together a quick message, ruddy brown hair flying out around her face, caught in a sudden gust.

"Hey Baba, home yet?" the text read. Pulling up her hood and folding her arms as she waited for a reply Calliope reflected on her day. It had been decent overall, not that she was entirely sure there were any good days that involved math class, but hey, she thought compromising, you gotta do what you gotta do. After a few moments of no response the teen headed for home, dropping by a corner store and grabbing a Monster on the way. They were terribly bad for her health she was well aware, but addictive nonetheless.

The delectable, carbonated, caffeine laced treat in hand she kept on going, trying to once again reabsorb herself in the stirring ferver that was her favorite band. It could have been that she shared a name with one of the Muses, she forgot of which domain, but for some reason music was an integral part of her life. This time however when the audio fell to a hush it was with relief rather than annoyance that Calli retrieved the mobile from her pocket.

"Yeah baby, on my way now." Calliope who had stopped walking, was already drafting a reply when the follow-up sentence came through in typical delayed Baba fashion. "Need a ride?"

"Yes please," she tapped out erasing the earlier draft. "I'll be at the Circle K, k? <3"

"See you in ten. <3" buzzed the affirmative making her grin.

Satisfied the teen fiddled with the device to get the music running again. After some trial and error failing for a time to realize she'd become unplugged her jam session was resumed at full blast. Bopping to the beat Calliope turned to back track the more than a block and a half of headway she'd made, when she'd nearly run into someone. It was with an awkward laugh and words of apologies on her lips when the tall suddenly imposing figure smiled wickedly and shoved the young woman backwards into the alley she'd unwittingly paused before.

Fear lanced through the girl, blazing up her spine like white fire, her arms pinwheeling as she fell, phone and drink speeling off in opposed though equally air borne directions. Her momentum was roughly haulted by a pair of burly well muscled arms that emerged from behind making quick work of ripping away her backpack and hurling it down the alley.

The initial shock of the attack and paralysis in the face of terror soon gave way to the deep primal beast that resided within every being, the stark need to preserve one's own self consuming the girl as the first sharp cries of torn fabric resonated within her ears. Screaming and kicking out against the malevolent pair all thought fell away from mind leaving only automated action and reaction, Calliope was a marionette moved solely by the unseen strings of survival.

Everything was struggle against the brute force that was the attackers as Calli was hauled deeper and deeper into the dark cloying shadows that made up the thin passageway between buildings. Unable to stop her progression into the darkness the girl thrashed about savagely, scratching, kicking, and biting blindly in a maddened frenzy against the men who were growing more and more uneasy and agitated with the howling, combative youth they'd chosen to target. Legs still swinging in the brisk air, caught up by the much taller adversary that held her, it was the chance contact of Calliope's foot with the first thug's jaw that changed the tide of events.

Swearing and cupping his mouth the assailant staggered back while Calli tried clawing at his partner's face. Still locked in the frantic melee that was her fight for life the girl had failed to take notice of the blade the first man, now enraged with pain, brandished capably.

It was already too late when the steel plunged deep into her stomach, her form going rigid with pain. Something Calliope had never before been aware of in her life but was oddly the same size and consistency of a water balloon burst deep with her abdomen. Her jaw falling open the fight going out of her immediately she gasped dumbly like a trout on a hook as the blade imbedded itself two, three times more into her body, pressure building within her gut. Irrationally the girl's mind went to an upcoming history report.

She was writing a paper on two of her favorite "Greats" from history, Cyrus the Great of Persia acknowledged as having made history's oldest known declaration of human rights, and Charles the Great aka Charlemagne of the Franks last emperor of Rome, who united Europe. It was a comparative essay, and turning out quite well. Her puppet strings now cut Calliope was a rag doll thrown aside when someone shouted from a place deeper within the night's maw, scaring off the fiends that had vandalized her form. Whimpering and still far from the situation at hand, Calli struggled to cope with the fact that she might never be able to turn the paper in.

Gravel churned under the feet of the attackers as they took flight from the crime scene, the interloper racing towards the discarded Calliope. Her limbs moving in slow uncoordinated jerks, the girl's mind failing to fully comprehend what was going on around her, eyes lulling closed as her inquisitive probing fingers puzzled over the ragged wounds and hot sticky liquid trickling from them.

"You're going to be alright." came an assured male voice that seemed to float somewhere above Calli's head. There was a press of hands against her belly causing the dying girl's legs to shoot out stiffly in response. "I'm sorry, but stay with me now." the voice went on coolly as she attempted desperately to get a grasp on reality and understand the damage inflicted upon her body though her mind frantically tried to reel away. The man muttered scornfully to himself, replacing his hands with Calliope's in a swift subtle motion. "Keep up the pressure." he instructed with a commanding tone that left no room for argument. Bleary eyes opening to slits a trepidatious hope igniting in Calli's chest as he spoke.

"My Baba's on his way." she managed to whisper tears rolling down the sides of her face.

There was a moment of hesitation, the dark figure glancing about briefly as if for the first time since arriving on scene he was unsure of himself. "We can't wait." he murmured at last before sliding his hands beneath the young woman's battered body and lifting her off the trash littered ground. Calliope gasped folding in on herself, muscles contacting with discomfort as her rescuer started off at a swift pace.

Her arms feeling weak and cold as she tried to press down on the wounds without much success the girl tried vainly to put her mind elsewhere. In the end it was the odd almost rock like substance her cheek was rubbing against that won out on her withering and darting attention span.

Perplexed she moved her hands across the surface, prodding the small grooves she found in it, tracing one with its rounded edge square design. The more she probed the more intricate she discovered the minut divits and ruts were, though almost all were entirely symmetrical. Transfixed by the pattern which upon such scrutiny she discovered was less stone like that Calliope and initially imagined, in fact it was something more akin to enameled wood, or scratching the top of one fingernail with another in texture and quality.

"Hey," barked the frustrated voice of her would be savior. "I said to maintain pressure!"

Calli's legs dangled free and loose momentarily as he let go of her lower half, keeping her aloft with one arm alone. With his now free hand he pried her exploratorative digits away from what her clearly fevered mind had come to believe was his chest, physically reaffirming the need for them to remain where they were placed. With a brief authoritative squeeze of her fingers he held her hands there for a long minute for scooping his arm under her knees again. All the while his head long pelt missing not a stride in the process.

Hazy gaze seeking something new to focus on Calliope found the curve of the man's jaw. It was strong, if oddly rounded. Eyes wondering to the grim expression of determination, persecution, and a flash of responsibility when he spared a glance to her. Calliope's fading consciousness was suddenly split in disjointed, mist veiled thought. The first notion was how remarkably safe she felt though in all likelihood she was dying at that moment, while the second lingering on the seemingly more rational aspect at present, that her hero had no discernable nose to speak of.

The sky opened then, slowly at first with little intrusive drops plunking onto her face and interrupting the already tentative and hard to maintain lines of thought Calliope was currently having. Then, just when her mind was on home and the three people she loved most the downpour erupted all around the haggard duo. Thinking of all the things she wished she could have said, could have done, or done differently a cold numbness began to soak in, body and mind.

Licking her lips with a tongue that felt fat and dry after what seemed like eons of disuse, a needy sense to thank the man washed over her in intense waves. It was still a battle to speak however, even as the blue band framing his startlingly indigo eyes threatened to steal away her last moments of conscious attention. "What's your name?" she croaked in a rasping manner.

The runner grimaced. "That doesn't matter right now." he replied evasively.

"It does to me." Calliope uttered feeling less and less connected to her body with each cumbersome breath.

He looked down, face softening as if he knew something his new dependant did not. "Leo," he answered in a failing tone, taking a second to clear his throat and regain his composure before stating again in a stronger way. "My name's Leo."

A gentle smile tugged at the young woman's lips as her cold, unfeeling hands slipped away from their appointed place, and a particular darkness started to encroach on the edge of her field of vision.

"Thank you Leo." Calliope muttered falling into a pool of darkness the remorseful calls of her rescuer following her beneath the still black waters.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime Later

The respite from training was not lost on Mikey, who, immature as ever was joking around as he raced ahead of his brothers and through the damp, lichen coated sewers, byways, and access tunnels that was their home, their training grounds, their amusement park. The orange clad ninja didn't really seem to care too much what the reason for the unexpected adventure, particularly because it was happening topside, but the fact that it was an opportunity to hangout with April and act like his age without reprimand for once had him rowdily dropping his board and clattering over the uneven cement towards sunlight.

Out of all of them he seemed the least concerned with their sociological imposed exile to New York city's underground and waterways. Raphael however felt the brunt of the effect, burdened with a shame and certain self loathing the others couldn't quite grasp or understand. His sensitivities hidden beneath a gruff independent exterior perfected over the years he feigned indifference to the world and people that forced them into the shadows, people they were for some reason meant to protect.

It was their father and sensi, Master Splinter who both trained and feared for his adopted sons, believing that they would be hated, despised, hunted, or worse, if their existence was ever to be discovered. So begrudgingly, at least with regards to the sai wielding turtle they lurked, and trained beneath the feet of an unsuspecting and otherwise unprotected city. Not that they didn't have concerns other than flagrant prejudice and bigotry, concerns like murderous enemy ninja clans, genocidal beings from other dimensions or even, heaven forbid, having lives.

No, the irony of hiding from those they were training to protect did not escape or illude Raphael, rather caught sharply in his craw, and left a pretty bitter taste in his mouth where the others could seemly ignore or accept it.

Taking his time as he trailed behind the others Raph couldn't help but feel a certain amount of disdain, and even some anxiety regarding the outing. He always felt this blend of apprehension going topside, anticipating least of all the worst. Then, as it always seemed to happen, he'd see something beautiful and reluctantly he would have to admit a certain charm to the world above, and even a long held, secret desire to be a part of it.

Today's revelatory discovery was the wind blown autumn leaves that had drifted in through one of the gutters, and remained plastered upon the opposed wall in a pattern that resembled stained glass in a church window. Raphael allowed his gaze to linger as he passed by, the natural and decaying work of art possessing a type of, what was the word, he wondered, wabi-sabi, feel to it. Something beautiful that was imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. Like life in general, he thought, cynicism seeping in without warning.

Arriving and the prearranged location before long Raph watched the way Leo unlocked the maintenance door that lead down a short hallway, and then into the basement of an old tenant building, rolling his eyes at the exaggeratedly cautious way their leader stepped in. The brothers thought they'd scored finding the place a few years ago, moved in some old furniture and made themselves a nice get away. It was moderately clean, room enough for the four of them, and Donnie had rigged it with plumbing, and electricity.

All was going smoothly until a change in landlords occurred and then the mysterious, unaccountable costs started raising some interest. The apparent squatters were found out though never fingered and their stuff thrown out. But that was before the woman's ex came looking for her and their kids with a loaded .45. The turtles put the hurt on him, the police took care of the rest, and now they were set with a rent free pad, that included cable, and WiFi. Ms. Evans would even send her kids down with cookies and pizza money every now and then. Really aside from April the quick witted former intern of one Baxter Stockman turned freelance investigative journalist, this small family was their only other consistent form of interaction with people, or consistent positive interaction at least.

Mikey wasted no time in turning on the television while lounging across the moth eaten couch directly in front of it. Donnie went to work immediately on, well, whatever it was he was doing now. Raph didn't pay too much attention to the geek's tinkering, though since the botched attempt at reprogramming a MOUSER, he probably should. Where for the youngest two this refuge was an instantaneous excuse to drop the mantle of responsibility driven into them by Splinter, Raphael and Leonardo saw things relatively differently, though one with a suppressive feeling of vulnerability and the other an abiding sense of duty.

Waking the perimeter Leo did his typical security screening of the large one room retreat, the red garbed ninja taking a more practical and direct route in his defensive countermeasures. Thrusting open the dumbwaiter he peered about the dark abandoned shaft finding only the spider webs and dust still lingering from when last they were here. Pleased with these findings he left the hole in the wall, unlatched the front door, threw it open and stepped outside with a grimace, ready for anything.

"There's this thing called a 'peephole' for a reason Raph!" Michelangelo called from his position of ease of the sofa.

Ever conflicted, it was with a moderate feeling disappoint and relief that the door was eased shut, though Raphael would have never owned up to any of it. Content with his findings and seeing that Leo had moved onto his newspapers the most guarded of the quartet allowed himself to relax.

Though Leo's on again off again obsession was beginning to worry him a bit. Perhaps the worst part about doing what they did was the lack of closure. You stop a mugging, or pull someone from a fire, maybe try to end territory wars between rival gangs, no matter what, you try to do good wherever you go and yet half the time there is little or no follow up. Nothing to let you know if your efforts ever came to bare fruit, or if the person you tried so hard to help even lived to see the next day.

Mikey had his sheer faith and grating optimism to tell him that everything always turned out exactly how he'd wanted them to. Donatello relied on statistics and outcome probability, where Raph only dealt with issues at present and pushed all else aside as a means to find sleep. Faith, numbers, and indifference were never viable options for Leo, so he always combed the papers and obituaries hoping to find something and nothing in equal measure.

Pushing his concern aside and determined to make the most of today Raphael ambled with a calm sense of purpose to the couch where he stooped, lacing his fingers beneath it. Then, heaving upward with the swift trained motion of a champion deadweight lifter he flipped Mikey to the floor where he lay sprawled and squawking like an angry crow missing its tail feathers.

Returning the furniture to its former position the victor and current "king of the mountain" vaulted over the back settling near the middle heels propped up on the new and improved Mikey footstool 2.0, belly up edition.

"Ha-ha, real funny bro," the baby of the family snarked picking himself up off the ground.

"I thought so." Raphael concurred with a smile that was part mockery part challenge.

Mikey who knew the look didn't feel like getting his shell kicked just to improve Raph's mood or vainly try to guard his claim to the sofa. So rather than rising to the provocation he sat down roughly at the furthest end manageable, arms folded. Yet in no short order the tension and rivalry began to dissolve and fade, dissipating under the luminous glow of the television screen. After a while Leo took up the last available seat, and together they embarked on a space epic of intergalactic proportions, each forgetting one's self for a time and belonging only to the adventure set before them.

"I hope you know that time dilation doesn't work like that." Donnie mused cutting through the consuming wave of tension and drama brought about as an ill fated race to save the lives of billions unfolded before the brothers' eyes. "What they're stating as fact is quite the inverse of time dilation." said the brains of the group from his spot behind them, arms folded on the back of the couch chin resting atop them.

Each word he spoke severed his brothers from the bonds of imagination and brought them back into his world, a world of the facts and undeniable truths that made him feel safe and assured with his place in the cosmos. "Proximity to vast gravitational wells should slow time down for the commander and his ship not hasten it. Ergo when he and the crew return to the station it would be too late. Actually, given the relative time differential they would be years or even decades too late. Simple physics really."

"They have a special hyper drive engine!" Raph snapped with annoyance. If it was Mikey spewing fan theories, it was Donnie spouting facts! Couldn't they ever just watch something and enjoy it for what it was?

"Yeah, that math doesn't check out either." Donatello commented as he stood and walked back to the space he'd staked out for his secondary workshop.

"I can't believe we're related!" Mikey muttered getting up as well and heading for the frigid.

"The feeling in most assuredly mutual." Don agreed with a half smile as he slipped on his protective goggles.

The room was quiet save for occasional welding sparks, the tv muted in agitation. No one cared for the fate of the celestial princess and her people anymore. This chain of events was beyond typical for them, they would finally have a day where they weren't training or running rooftops looking for danger they would inevitably get on each other's nerves.

"Hey," Raphael called with a sudden clarity and realization he couldn't obtain wrapped up in the movie as he had been. "Shouldn't April be here by now?"

Four pairs of eyes flicked to the clock, which unconcerned upon the wall marked the near hour and a half she was late. The woman was intelligent, and had been fairly well capable of holding her own before meeting the mutant wardens of the city, but the thought of her tardiness was troublesome to the turtles.

"Maybe we should call her." Leo suggested walking towards the landline Ms. Evans insisted on paying for. After some indecisive murmurings from the rest Leonardo picked up the reciver and pencil kept near the device and used it to dial. All of them suffering from overlarge digits when compared to humanity, this was the most practical means of utilizing the phone.

"Hi," April chirped on the other end almost immediately. "I was just getting ready to call you guys. Sorry I'm so late but we're heading down the stairs right now!"

Leo blinked, "'We're?'"

There was a was a sudden hitch in the woman's voice, one that was unusual for her. "Yeah, um, me and the pizzas!" she laughed it off. "See you in just a second." April added before hanging up.

A perplexed look on his face the blue ninja turned to the room, "She's on her way down stairs, but something's wrong." Leo hesitated, "I think April just lied to me."

A stark unease had settled in the atmosphere. The boys had known April O'Neil for a little over a year now, ever since they saved her from her former employer's murderous robots. She'd only recently made herself a true asset to the team, but had always been a friend, and never did she give any of them reason to doubt her, until now that is.

Raphael, who was regretting the fact that he might be right about someone, again, sat fidgeting with his sai as he waited, practicing hand holds, and transition between grips in the disquiet. A brisk knock at the door announced April's arrival leaving a cautious Leo to let her in.

"What the hell took you so long?" Raphael bit out from the couch before anyone else could get a word in.

April, her strawberry red hair teased and wind battered was taken aback momentarily, then flashed one of her patented innocent until proven guilty smiles at the group waving away their concerns as she entered.

"Sorry guys, no reason really, I'm fine, I just stopped to grab some pies," the woman announced in a sing-song manner, motioning with her eyes to the large flat boxes she carried, her smile wavering awkwardly just then. "And I brought a new friend along too." she confessed.

The collective hush that fell over the room was cut only by the electricity of tension and fear that the foursome had regarding this unexpected turn of events. An ambush in Raph's mind. Standing and taking a deep breath he readied himself for what was to come. Drawing upon his emotional armor and self maintained sense of apathy two fold as April moved inside and the silhouetted form of someone tall coming up behind her could be seen. Bitterly waiting for whatever would come next, it would be one extreme or the other, from the horror and rejection that seemed all but guaranteed with civilians, or the vengeance filled battle insured if this was some sort of trap. Either way things were bound to turn out negatively and everyone was tactically preparing.

The man who entered was a full head and a half taller than April's petite 5'2", with shaggy black hair, well worn denims, and a logo sporting tee. He smiled at the room cockily. "'Sup."

The brothers who hadn't already, drew their weapons preparing for a fight. "Woah!" April said in a half shout stepping between them her back still to the new comer. "Hey, no brawling, we're all friends here."

"Friends?" spat Leo eyeing the seemingly unarmed man with suspicion.

"Yeah this is the puke who's been dogging us this past week and a half!" Raphael snapped, teeth gritting together.

"Well if you wads weren't defending the Purple Dragons than I wouldn't have had to lay you out!" the vigilante shouted.

The room quickly devolved into reactive yelling as the five argued their points and got in one another's faces. During this brief bout April found a place to unload the food, and Donnie struck with an epiphany slipped away to cover his project. Annoyed with the turn of events April clapped her hands sharply between the warring parties when she returned.

"Enough macho posturing, seriously!" the woman barked with exasperation. "There has been a huge lack of miscommunication here, and it's led from one bad situation to the next. We're gonna have a sit down and talk about this."

"Since when are you and Jason Voorhees here all chummy anyway?" Mikey wanted to know irritably jabbing a finger at the intruder.

"Oh God honestly?" April sighed with frustration grabbing her temples. "It was hard enough to convince him to come, hence the lateness, so your jokes really aren't helping. Guys, pizza, sit, please!" When it became dismally clear that the standoff was going nowhere fast without direct intervention O'Neil, hands on hips feeling like a playground monitor prepared to settle the squabble.

"Boys Casey Jones, Casey Jones boys, more specifically, Leo, Mikey, Raph, and Donnie's somewhere around here." she said pointing out the present members of the consideratly color coordinated group.

"Yeah, the Dragons' new watch dogs!" Casey quipped bringing back the tension.

"Stop it!" April shouted as feet began to shuffle forward and a scuffle seemed imminent. "I told you, yeah they're protecting the Dragons but only because they're the only lead we have to the Foot right now."

Two separate conversations broke off then, Casey shouting, "Damn right it's a lead! There are Foot connections, running all the way through the Dragons who do you thing does all the gun running?" And the turtles with various exclamations regarding secrecy and violation of trust punctuated by a disbelieving "Dude!" from Mikey. All of it causing O'Neil to greatly regret this 'genius' idea of hers.

"So how do you know we can trust this guy!" Raphael asked sizing up the man who was a few inches taller than him.

"Because Raph, one, he saved me from a run in with a pair of Foot goons the other night, and two, his information should be good because he's a former Dragon." April explained. The brothers looked Jones over with new more appraised eyes, leaving questions regarding the 'Foot goons' for another time.

"Wouldn't your former gang be able to recognize you?" Donatello questioned warily making his way to the shell adorned semi-circle that had been formed in his momentary absence.

April caught Jones's eye then and pointed to Donnie, as if to say, 'There he is, that's the fourth one I mentioned.' A curt nod was all the acknowledgement given, but it was enough.

"That's why I wear the mask." Casey said answering the no-brainer with blazing a smile that was pure confidence and self-assurance.

"That wasn't what I'm referring to. Don't most initiates get a tattoo, marking them as members?" Donnie went on very simply, as though the other man's bold facade, and evident bravado was an indication of his level of intelligence.

"Yeah," Casey agreed before patting the back of his head. "Its why I grew my hair out."

Raph chuckled at this, his arms folded across his chest, "So there's a reason behind why you look like a bum?"

"Talk all you want turtle boy, I'm still the stud here, I mean at least I'm not so ugly that I have to live in the sewers like a ra-" the sharp point of April's elbow driving into the man's gut cut him short, he'd been going to say 'rat.' Glaring at her the man continued, "Bottom line is I know the Dragons and if you need info on them that badly, I can get it for you, and then get you in. I've still got connections. Besides, according to April here, we're on the same side we just don't know it yet."

There was a long pensive moment where no one was sure of what to do or say. Blunt and to the point Casey came up with the solution in an instant.

"Look," he said hands flying expressively through the air. "I might have been a Dragon a long time ago, but that was then when I was different person. Now I just want them off my streets and away from the kids stupid enough to fall for their crap. If the Foot can get taken out too while we're at it, that's not just the icing on the cake, that's the whole damn bakery, and then some."

Casey eyed his perspective new partners for a long minute before thrusting out his hand, "We got ourselves a partnership?"

Leo glanced at the others, they all seemed to share his cautious optimism. "More like we've got ourselves a probationary trial period." he said shaking. "Prove to me we can trust you, and we'll go from there."

"I wouldn't ask for anything less." Jones nodded turning to shake hands with the others.

After exchanging these few pleasantries Casey excused himself and began backing for the door. "I think I'll go too," April said taking note of the stabdoffish way the boys were treating her. Trust was something hard won and easily lost among the brothers, she knew that without anyone even having to explain it to her, and right now she'd brought a stranger into their safe place. She was on thin ice.

"See ya around." Raph waved half-hearted.

"Later." Mikey added watching as the door closed behind the exiting humans.

"Well they're just loads of fun!" Casey commented jogging the stairs two at a time.

April shrugged trying to make keeping up look easy. "I should have told them you were coming is all, I think things would have gone much better that way."

Casey seemed to sense that O'Neil was struggling, and rather than slow down he picked up the pace a half smile quirking at his lips as he tried to push the seemingly fearless woman who put herself in the middle of a mutant/ninja war. Not only that woman who had managed to track him down at his brownstone and then convince him of her little coming together plan.

"I dunno," he countered as they sprinted. "it pretty much went about how I expected, only less smack down."

"Yeah well, they're good kids, I just get the feeling they've been through a lot, especially recently." the woman explained reminding herself to fit someone cardio into her daily routine somewhere.

"'Kids?'" Casey scoffed with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, from what I understand they're all still in their teens." April confirmed.

Stopping short as they hit the ground floor landing Casey lost April who passed few strides ahead of him before she too stopped and turned around to look at him. "Wait, so you're telling me that for about two weeks now I've been beating the living hell out of a bunch of children?"

April raised a brow curiously, as she watched him and attempted look casual while holding the stitch in her side at the same time. "Highly trained mutant children, but yes."

"Well shit," the man said. "I'm turning into my dad."

There was an awkward moment of silence while Jones absorbed the information. "You ok?" April asked.

"Yeah, fine." he replied as they headed out, though the troubled look to his eye, and the way he stuffed his hands into his pockets told a slightly different story. April got the impression that Casey hadn't meant to say that aloud. She was beginning to feel a bit awkward, and getting ready to say goodbye when the man looked at her and grinned in a manner that dissolved all prior sobriety of the situation.

"Lunch?" he asked boldly.

"What?" April puzzled with a laugh.

Casey shrugged, "We left all the pizza downstairs, I'm hungry and I know this great little place. Want to go?"

April thought about it for a moment. Unsure of the pretext behind the inquiry she mentally argued with herself that if they were going to be on the same team she might as well get to know the guy, besides, she thought, it might be nice.

"Sure," April beamed. "Lets do lunch."


	3. Chapter 3

A sports bar and grill was far from the first thing that came to April's mind when she had agreed to lunch with Casey Jones. Though, reflecting critically on how the question was brought up, and what little she knew about the man who had asked her, she probably should have guessed it on the first try.

Looking up at the neon sign above the door, and then back down to the rowdy group filing out of the squat building however, the inside was exactly what she expected it to be. Loud, and bright, with more than a dozen big screen tvs plastered all over and each one was hosting a seemingly different sporting event, the walls around them cluttered with photos and memorabilia. There was smoke in the air despite health codes and legal restrictions, a sticky substance on the floor the woman prayed was booze, and a misogynistic chorus of whistles and howls that followed her in, great.

"Hey," Casey called grabbing a fistful of pretzels from the bar and flinging them at a nearby group. "This here's a lady you're gawking at, I know you don't got much experience in this area but show some respect!"

April was flushed with a spark of flattery before her eyes went wide. She really hoped this wasn't about the turn out the way she was sure it would, badly.

Then one of them, an older man, waved the pair off, "Whatever Case, just get your ugly mug outta here a'fore I remind you about that little Stanley cup wager we had last year and the money you still owe me!" There was a roll of laughter among the men.

"Sure thing Matt," Casey replied before a sudden odd expression crossed the tall, shaggy haired man's face. April enjoyed the notion that it was him reconsidering the locale. After a second Jones snapped out of it and motioned for her to follow.

"A real regular here then huh?" April asked in a teasing tone.

"Yeah, I guess." Casey muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

"You guess!" piped up a bubblegum scented waitress as she passed them by. She was decked out with flair to the ears and quirked a brow in their direction. "Are you kidding?" she scoffed before looking pointedly at subject of discussion. "If it wasn't for this bar, ol' Case here would starve to death!"

Adding the information to her stock pile of facts regarding this Mr. Jones April did so good naturedly as she didn't like to judge a book by its cover, or one bad review. She did amend her mental catalog of the man to reflect that he had very bad judgment when it came to foresight though.

Pressing forward and muttering to himself in a disjointed manner the man lead the way to a small booth near the back, sliding onto one of the padded benches April coming to occupy the other. Perhaps a little too pleased with the turn of events April teased a lock of hair, smiling with a moderately victorious air. So, if rumors were true Casey was a man who couldn't feed himself but thought that lurking in dark alleyways with hockey sticks and baseball bats was a good idea. Interesting.

Clearly regretting everything starting with waking up this morning Casey fished the menus out of their catty and handed one to April. Typical bar food stared back out at the woman, pizza, burgers, fries, booze, and anything, and everything deep fried. Surprisingly there was a panel on the back sporting vegan and vegetarian options not something she'd have guessed a little place like this to have.

What really caught her eye however was a portion called "Black Tie Eats." It boasted things like raspberry truff-alo wings, Korean meatballs, and saffron spiced crab cakes. April cocked her head to the side, fusion food of the bar and ballroom variety, that was new.

It was while they were pondering over their options that the peppy blonde waitress from moments earlier appeared with some water for each, and a notepad to take down their orders. April was jolted with the sudden realization that she didn't know which one of them was paying. Having been invited, naturally she'd assumed he would be, but what if she was wrong? What if he intended for her to buy her own lunch? She felt unsure of herself now, and the order she'd been pondering on, she didn't want to see presumptuous if he wasn't, or greedy if he was. After all it would be kind of rude to take advantage of him, especially given that good impressions and positive opinion was so important given the gravity and significance of their current arrangement.

"What can I get y'all to drink?" the blonde woman asked poking the man in his arm with the back of her pen. "She's prettier than usual."

Casey grimaced immediately, before tuning into his wit and finding a comeback, "Still suffering from poor body image I see!" he smiled while April who was a bit shocked at first drank it all in like a cat with the cream, he somehow kept digging himself deeper and deeper didn't he?

Politely redirecting the conversation after a second O'Neil order a Coke where Casey got a beer. Nicole, the waitress, left with a wink that made the awkward tension fizzle to life. Then it became just plain weird. With no outside intervention it was just the two of them, and a whole lot of nothing much to say. Unsure of what to do with herself April fiddled around with the menu for a while, she already knew what she wanted it was just a matter of bad timing having locked eyes with the item seconds too late to request it at the same time she'd gotten her beverage.

She glanced up seemingly at the same instant Jones did, their gazes darting hurriedly away from each other as eye contact was suddenly non negotiable. Instead, with a sigh she allowed her gaze to wander the various photos, trophies, and collectables that decorated the bar's interior.

Why did everything have to be so weird and uncomfortable? She wondered. Maybe if he'd taken her somewhere he didn't frequent so much, or at least somewhere he hadn't dated the server it wouldn't be so bad, she concluded. The driving notion however, that she was sitting across from a sleaze that thought fighting crime was a game caused some serious doubt of the man's usefulness to seep in.

Nicole returned just in the nick of time with their drinks and logged their lunch orders. April got herself a plate chili cheese dog fries letting her little known inner glutton show just a bit, while the still glowering Casey ordered up a black bean veggie burger with cheese, and jalapeno bottle caps, calling stubbornly for lite ranch over his shoulder as the server left.

A devious thought came to mind making April wrinkle her nose and grin wickedly, though she did have the etiquette to wait for the other woman to get out of ear shot before speaking. "Talk about 'poor body image!'" April snarked mischievously.

The table erupted with laughter to the point of red faces, Casey's half hidden by a hand. And just like that the unease and clumsy feel to the outing began dissipate, like a balloon quickly deflating as it whizzed through the air.

"Alright, alright," Casey waved taking a drink of beer. "You don't exactly have to maintain weight to play, but I do like keeping myself in shape you know." he explained.

Folding one arm on the table and using the other to prop up her chin April leaned forward, more secure with the situation and her part in it she asked, "Play what?"

"Oh," Casey laughed feeling stupid. "Hockey, I play hockey. It's not pro or anything, it's semi-pro actually, though I'm hoping to get signed soon."

"That's cool." she laughed before going on to explain a bit about herself next. "Well, you already know what I do, freelance reporting, and slum around the sewers in my off time." April's lower lip pulled down at an odd angle as she mentally berated herself, that sounded so bad. Clearing her throat with a few swallows of cola she resumed her examination of the walls with some moderate embarrassment.

After a minute, her brow furrowing with half recognition and the woman leaned forward tapping a color photo of a tall young man in black and yellow gear shooting a puck. "Is this you?" she asked.

Before saying anything the defeated way the man's head dipped in mortification told it all. "Yeah, that's me back in high school. I scored the winning goal that game, five hole and everything." There was a certain sparkle to Casey's eyes as he spoke, one that warmed his features and made his new partner in anti-crime smile.

The food arrived shortly after, steaming and giving off the most delectable aromas. Maybe bar food wasn't entirely a bad thing, April reasoned. There was a few moments of quiet as the pair tucked in to their sloppy good grub, laughing occasionally at the plight of one another. Whether it was the ketchup on Casey's shirt, or the cheese on April's chin, there was no escaping the mess, and the acceptance of this fact saw the ease return to them.

Feeling more daring with the hurtle of public dining already seen and faced April had a question for the man, "So is this like, a date?"

"No." Casey replied with a charming grin that seemingly told a different story. "This is a business meeting."

"A business meeting?" April echoed. "With beer?"

"Yes," he smirked tipping the bottle mouth towards her. "Besides, if this was a date, that," he said pointing to his photo. "Would have been the first thing I showed you."

There was a long pause before April dared question him again, "So you're seriously still trying to get laid off a picture from high school?" Rolling laugher ensued once again, cut by Casey's intermediate arguments regarding the quality of the picture, and how lucky a woman April is that he has a sense of humor about himself, and she couldn't have agreed more, choosing not to mention his choice in tables if he hadn't wanted her to see the photograph.

When the ruckus died down neither one could quite believe how much they were enjoying themselves. While Casey wasn't exactly a player, his heart did have a few recently healing scars, and April who'd been so focused on school and later work had a heart which had seen too few trials of the romantic nature. Though what they did share in common was the happy disbelief that this was the best non-date either had ever been on.

A certain solemnity gradually found its way into the atmosphere as Jones swirled his drink around. He always managed to shoot himself in the foot around women he liked, but things were different this time. If they were going to fight the Foot, or hell even just the Dragons, there was a few things he felt that the woman was entitled to know first.

"I guess now's when I should start telling you how I got involved with the Purple Dragons, isn't it?" he asked evenly.

"Not if you don't want to," April assured, even though her innate curiosity burned at the thought, she really, really didn't want to mess things up.

"Nah, it's cool." he shrugged draining his bottle. "I had it kinda rough growing up," he started. "Bad home life and the like, nothing terribly Oprah, but I started really acting out in middle school and everyone thought I was just another punk kid who's family was a drain on society, yada-yada. Well then we get this new P.E. teacher, guy named Gregory Stills, but we all called him 'Drills Stills' because he liked to make us run laps. See, Stills was different, he didn't see me as some statistic or even as a lost cause, he saw me as an angry kid who needed something to do with all that built up energy.

"Stills tried just about every sport he could think of with the class to try and find one that sparked my interest, basketball was the dumps, baseball, let's just say I liked hitting things a little too much for baseball, and soccer was too team reliant. Then he found hockey," Casey's eyes practically glowed then, honey mixing with the pools of deep brown as he recalled fondly the events that transpired. "It was like coming home."

April smiled shifting slightly in her seat, she didn't want to interrupt by moving around too much and offend or distract him, so relenting to a numb buttcheek she resettled and sat back.

"It was fast passed, it was raw, and had all my favorite things. Soon I started doing better with my classmates, fought in the halls less and was really taking a turn for the better. Then Stills got a hold of my grades, God I hated him! He'd make me sit outside and do school work while the others got to play. That sure lit a fire under my ass!" Casey laughed. "I went from flunking to As and Bs in less than a month because finally I had a reason to want to work, to want to succeed, then Stills let me back in the game.

"After middle, high school was a shock, for one when I signed up for hockey as an extracurricular we weren't playing with balls on concrete, but pucks on ice. The rules were different, more strict and grades mattered like hell. So I kept them up, learned how to skate and was doing really good." here was where Casey stopped as if reluctant to go on, a shadow passing over his face as if he was haunted by what happened next.

April tried to tell him that he owed her no explanation but he waved her off, cleared his throat and kept going.

"Things got bad at home, real bad... Then with my Ma gone, and my dad away I was sent to a group home. I started acting out again, the angry, stupid kid rearing his ugly head again. I didn't feel safe anymore, or like I really belonged anywhere, you know?" he asked voice cracking unexpectedly.

Nicole came back, topping off April's glass and handing Casey another Bud. He took a few drinks while avoiding looking at anyone directly. April noticed a slight tremor to the man's hand as he drank. She didn't realize talking about his past would hurt the vigilante so badly, or make him feel as vulnerable as it did. She felt guilty. It wasn't like she'd forced him to tell her anything or even asked him too, yet at the same time she did want to ask what had happened to his parents, and if he'd been alright, but was too afraid to, nervous that if she did he'd shut down or get angry.

"Anyway," Casey pressed on once the two were alone. "Bad kid got in with a bad crowd, one thing lead to another, to another, to the Purple Dragons. I was a real punk and a hood. Vandalism, robbery, a bout of arson, I was bad. Shaved my head, got my tat, my grades started slipping but by then hockey didn't seem to matter all that much anymore. I was, um, I probably should have mentioned but I was part of Big Brothers/Big Sisters at the time when this guy my new 'brother' comes in, sees me giving him the stink eye, sits down, smiles, and says, 'You know kid, I saw you down on that ice and thought that boy is gonna go far.' (apparently he had a nephew on the other team) but that's not the point. The point is, if that single acknowledgement of who I was outside of the Dragons didn't mean the world to me, the fact that he decided to sponsor me and my team, well, that did it.

"I started shaping up again, it took some doing but I finally realized that where I belonged was the ice, and the my team, and my sponsors, well, they could be my family. Senior year, I'm getting ready to age out of everything, and that's when I decided to really man up," Casey paused to give his chest a quick thumping, laughing as he did it, clearly trying to bring levity back to the booth.

"I told the Dragons to shove it, I focused on saving my last year of school, and really buckled down on my game. It's the year I found my calling, power forward, right wing. I'm fast, strong, far from agile, but I'm a power house. I get the puck to the net when I'm needed, and keep it out of theirs at any cost when I'm not." Casey let out a sigh, and started picking at his food.

"And?" April asked after a bit, trying to gently nudge him into finishing his tale. Truth was the suspense was killing her and already her inquisitive reporter's mind was a whirl with questions.

Casey smiled knowingly, he had her hooked. He wasn't lying to her, it was all true, but he was toying with the woman a bit, trying to gage her interest. "And it was good," he shrugged. "Good for a long time, and I thought I'd escaped it all. Then news of a scout came, my big break, my chance get picked up by a team, free ride through college, the works. Hun had different ideas though, sent a couple of boys to break my legs, they did and it ruined my chances." Casey shrugged, "Matt, my sponsor got me a job at the bar and grill he owned, saw me on my feet, and back onto the ice inevitably, and that's my story."

April sat back awed. Then she started doing the math, some things didn't quite add up, but she was working on that. "So, if I may ask, why the long stint between high school and beating Dragons in alleyways?"

"Mmm," Jones nodded hurrying to clear his mouth. "See I wanted revenge right away but Matt talked me out of it, got my into community college and to move on with my life. A while back I guess I got the notion that I had to sort of 'pay it forward' you know? So I started at Big Brothers/Big Sisters. There was a kid named Ezra that I was mentoring, great kid, could put the beat down on anyone in a game of chess, really smart but it was just him and his grandma. He got caught in the crossfires between the Dragons and some other gang about two, three months ago. He and his grandma moved to Michigan after, he's getting better.

"That was when I decided though, that something had to be done. The Dragons had to be stopped and cleared out of the streets, but the thing is, I know that over half of them were just like me once hurting, angry kids looking for a place to belong in a world that doesn't make much sense. And most of the low levels are kids."

"That's why the bats and sticks huh?" April asked looking at the man with softened eyes. Regretting her shallow first impressions she now realized the depth of the man sitting across from her, he was definitely someone she wanted on her side.

"Yeah," Casey admitted. "Guns are probably easier, faster with less personal risk, but I don't want to kill or seriously hurt anybody, at least not the ground level guys, they're punks but like I said, I just want to stop them. In the end it's really Hun I'm after."

"Wow," April murmured as Casey looked away suddenly overcome with sheepishness. "Hey," she called pegging him with a fry. "You're a good man Mr. Jones."

"Yeah," he said noncommittally. "What about you?"

"Me?" April laughed. "Psh, I'm boring. My biggest obstacle in life was my parents. I love them though!" she snapped hands flying up defensively. Usually when she talked about her folks people tended to get the wrong impression, O'Neil really didn't want that happening here. "They were just always pushing me academically, it was like they were trying to mold me into their perfect ideal of what I should be, and I sort of let them."

"Well that sucks!" Casey burst out. "At least the only thing stopping me from being me was well, me."

April wrinkled her nose at him playfully, "Yeah but it wasn't all that bad," she replied. "I got into robotics, engineering and design, and that was fun for a while until it became tedious and boring. Then came the Dr. Stockman and the MOUSERS. He tried to kill me, the turtles stepped in and I guess I finally decided to follow my passions after a run in with death."

"Huh," April smiled. "Is it weird that my life can be summed up like that? Coming to its most important apex with mad scientists, killer robots, and giant talking reptiles?"

Casey thought for a moment, "Nope."

More laugher.

After what seemed like no time at all, but her watch claimed was more than hour after their meals had arrived April looked around curiously, "Aren't we going to get the check?"

"Uh, no," the man smiled with a hint of trouble. April arched a brow at him, as if saying 'And why not?'

"I'm sort of the owner, now. Matt still likes to manage the place but with no close family and a heart attack scare a couple years back, he signed everything over to me." he explained.

"Seriously?" April gawked.

"Yeah, that was Matt out front, the pretzels." he replied pointing past the woman towards the entry with an embarrassed wince. "But Nicole's still right, without this place I'd probably starve."

April smiled looking past her lunch date and took a quick secondary survey of the room. With fresh eyes and a clear new take on both the man who owned it and what this place ment to him, suddenly it didn't seem quite so bad anymore. Though her womanly pride wouldn't let her reveal such feelings, besides, giving him a hard time was half the fun.

"God Jones, you are one, cheap, date." she observed as they got up.

"Yeah?" Casey asked walking out. "You should see me at the movies."

The giddy school girl in April bubbled to the surface tinting her cheeks a rosy pink and loosing butterflies into her stomach. "Is that an open invitation?" she questioned, kicking herself for it immediately after.

"Definitely," Casey intoned. "So, before we make this partnership official, is there anything I should know about you, or the group?"

The reporter thought for a moment, "I'm allergic to shrimp, and they'll warm up to you eventually."

Casey smirked, "That's good to know. As for me there's only one thing I really think you should know." Pausing the man lifted the tee over his head exposing a well tanned set of abs, a broad chest, and strong biceps. "You already know where to find me. So, see ya around April." the hockey player winked hooking his shirt over one shoulder and ambling confidently down the sidewalk. April watched with a reluctant appreciation as he went, heat flushing her face.


	4. Chapter 4

Her room was filled with the bright colorful blooms of the half dozen or so bouquets Calliope had received since arriving at the hospital, unconscious, and dying from blood loss. It had been fairly touch and go for the first few days, a ruptured spleen, massive internal hemorrhaging, deep muscle trauma, and a nicked bowel. Surgery had removed her spleen, tidied up most of the blood and repaired the cut to her innards, but there was still much more to come. Blood transfusions, IV antibiotics to combat the resulting staff infection, and painkillers had seen her through to this point.

Right now though, Calli wished she could be laying in bed watching the balloons that just kept coming for her slowly lose their lift and descend in lazy drifts towards the floor on a journey that sometimes took days. Anything really would be better than this she was sure. Instead the young woman was in the hallway, the IV pole that was her new constant companion guided by one hand, gripping the hard plastic railing that ran along the wall with the other. There was positive middle-aged gentleman with spiky black hair, and a warm embracing smile at her side encouraging her. His name was Miguel, and he was her occupational therapist.

Calliope tried not to complain too much even when things were difficult or hurt because she knew that everyone was here to help her, but the level of pep exuded by the man was a bit difficult to handle from time to time.

"You're doing good, really good Calliope keep it up like this and you could walk to the patio on your own in just a day or two!" he beamed. "Wouldn't that be fun?" The promised success didn't seem quite so grand or extravagant seeing as she was in the room directly adjacent to the patio and could see it if her door was open, but Calliope managed a smile for his sake, wondering if she sounded like that with the dogs at the shelter.

Regardless of Miguel's coaching however, the very act of shuffling one foot in front of the other took most of her concentration and quickly sapped her strength. Not to mention that she felt inexplicably old decked out in a hospital gown and slippers as she waddled hunched over down the walkway in a slump. Each motion could be felt in her abdomen, like a dull even pulling which stretched across the sore muscles that were working hard to repair themselves. The one thing she could credit Miguel with was that he didn't make her straighten up to walk, or even demand too much lifting of her legs, both things she was grateful for.

That was the major difference between physical and occupational therapies, how hard you were pushed and what was actually expected of you. In Calli's case, physical was focused on building back her strength to what it was, or as Katherine the therapist liked to put it, "makes you want to die today so you can live better tomorrow." Where occupational was to improve her quality of life at each stage of recovery by helping Calliope learn to do life skills such as lacing her own shoes or making her own bed while still encumbered with low mobility. It was more about coping with her current limitations rather than overcoming them.

When the girl began to fatigue her therapist and self proclaimed cheerleader was there. "Come on Calli you can do it, ten more steps and we'll go back to your room." he enthused cheerily.

Calliope looked at him with an odd mix of feelings. Miguel impressed her first of all because she'd never seen him without a smile, and secondly because he actually seemed to enjoy his job, and care for his patients individually and genuinely. But she was also tired, and not just in the physical sense, everyone seemed to forget that though, that she had wounds no amount of surgery or weight lifting could fix. 

Regardless, her dads were great, and stayed by her side at all hours to the point where Calliope was practically commanding them to go home, rest, eat, and shower. They were the rocks and foundation she'd chosen to build her emotional recovery upon, and she was glad to have them, but even then, there was just too much going on inside, and so much poison in her mind that at times giving up seemed like the only thing she could do.

Biting her lip and looking up at the man with sad wide eyes the girl silently pleaded to be done for the day.

"It's alright bonita," Miguel smiled easily. "We'll get it next time."

Trudging back to her room Calliope managed to climb into bed and cover herself, receiving much praise in the process before being left alone. Katherine would be coming for her later in the afternoon, but she had lunch and an IV flush and change to look forward to in a little over an hour. All the girl wanted though was to sleep, injury, infection, and spiritual exhaustion taking its toll on her. But of course this was a hospital, and someone was always coming in to poke and prod her for one reason or another and she couldn't.

As if to make her point for her the tech walked in earning an all too teenage eye roll, though the groan she managed to keep internal. 

"Just came to check your blood pressure." The woman assured wheeling in the little machine.

Gaze flicking to the whiteboard at the foot of her bed Calli quickly scanned the names of the people on her room's shift. Helena was the name of her nurse, so that made the warm skinned woman strolling in Lakeisha. 

"Good morning Lakeisha." Calli smiled trying to sound happy.

"And a very good morning to you!" Lakeisha beamed opening up the pressure cuff with a uniquely velcro rip. Extending her arm the girl waited passively for the tech to finish and leave. Normally one for conversation or at least friendly small talk, the clouds that had settled over Calliope's life were of a dark brooding nature, one that diminished and oppressed her personality and will.

"You're doing excellent at maintaining your blood pressure," Lakeisha observed, going on to comment about the fact that Calliope no longer needed to receive blood transfusions.

Calli, feeling guilty regarding her dispirited attitude was trying to be more generous to the hard working individuals that cared for her. With a wavering up turn to her lips she turned and grinned and nodded her agreement.

"I guess that makes you a lucky one!" the woman commented with a good natured exuberance.

Everything came crashing down, including Calliope's tenuous smile. Everyone all around her just kept talking about how lucky or blessed she was. They all seemed so focused on what hadn't happened, it was like they were keeping score and tallying up the marks as they went. Calliope hadn't died, five points. She hadn't been more seriously injured, three points. A ruptured spleen isn't as bad as it sounds, one point. She hadn't actually been raped, ten, neon lighted points. 

It hurt, it hurt deeply that all around her nearly everyone, including her parents at times, seemed oblivious to the fact that something had indeed happened to her, something horrible and traumatic, something that wouldn't leave her, and probably never would.

Where everyone was celebrating her successes and narrow escapes from death or worse all Calliope could dwell on was the almosts. She'd almost died, several times in fact over the first day or two. She'd had to undergo two or more major surgeries depending on how you counted each muscle repair and the solitary organ removal, and it had all happened one right after the other. Calli had been attacked somewhere she'd once felt safe and secure shattering the illusion, and the terrible things her assailants had in mind didn't even bare thinking. 

People weren't meant to live with the constant dread and foreknowledge of their own mortality hanging over their heads like a fading ambient light that slowly begins to dim the longer you look at it, yet Calliope was. Every waking moment was a reminder that not only had she narrowly escaped death, but that she could die in an instant without any type of warning or notice, that in reality, anyone could.

"Hey baby, you alright?" Lakeisha asked gently taking the girl's chin with her fingers and tilting her face up.

The few guarded tears that had been welling in Calli's eyes slipped out and ran down her cheeks in two solemn rivers. "Yeah, I'm alright," the youth lied moving a hand to her stomach. "Just a little sore today." she added to the fabrication.

With a furrowed brow Lakeisha lay her cool hand across the girl's forehead before decisively feeling her cheeks. "Hmm..." she murmured contemplative for a long minute. "May I?" she then asked then tugging at the edge of Calliope's gown. Nodding her assent the pair eyed the taught bandages and gauze that made its way across the left half of her stomach, it was red in some areas, and in need of changing soon.

Lakeisha appraised the young woman's face before asking, "Should I tell Kathy to come get you later today than normal, or do you need the day off sweetheart?"

Calliope pondered the situation for a moment, honesty and responsibility nagging her. It was a weariness of the soul that won out in the end. "If you could please let her know that I could use a day off that would be amazing." Calli smiled. "I'm sorry, I'm just really tender still and tired."

"Sure thing." the woman nodded, glad that she could be of help, before gathering her things and leaving.

The guilt the teenager was left with was nothing when in comparison to her relief. It was true in a way though, there was a constant dull thrumming of pain that never fully dissipated. So, she reasoned hopefully, that meant she wasn't entirely a liar.

Flicking on the television, something she'd shared for the first few, semi-aware days after the attack, but now had free reign over, the teen channel surfed. It was difficult to lose herself at times, her mounting depression, and twisting memories which scarred her mind could even make it impossible. At least she had her shows, she would think, too preoccupied for reading. There were a few lingering interests that had stayed with her through the first dark weeks. A certain program about demon hunting brothers here, a khaki clad reptile wrangler there. Her current fascinations however revolved around the labor and delivery program she'd recently discovered, but it wasn't on until evenings.

Flipping through the stations felt more tedious than anything else, Calli had neither the attention nor intent to watch anything, though much of it the girl knew she would have enjoyed. In reality it was just going through the motions, until lunch arrived.

"Tuna salad sandwich, applesauce, steamed carrots, and milk." the youth explained coming in, he was around her age but seemed just as disinterested with life as Calliope herself.

She'd been on a bland pallet, soft food diet since she'd been cleared to eat. The sandwich had been procured with a lot of begging and a touch of tears, as soup just wasn't cutting it anymore. 

"Thanks." she murmured watching him leave, only to get a small nod in return.

After he was gone Calliope eyed the tray for a long minute before apprehensively lifting the lid. There it all sat, just like he said it would, the sandwich, the sides and milk. The only problem was now that he had it, even after all the pleading and pining away, she didn't want it. Berating herself like a parent with a picky child Calli grabbed a triangular slice of breads and drove it for home. A sticky grey blob fell out from between the slices and landed with a thick plop on the edge of her bed.

Nope. Putting everything back Calliope shoved the whole thing to the far end of the tray table, disgusted and resolute not to touch a bite of it. Instead she resumed her idle surfing until it became too insufferable and the teen shut the glowing noise box off. All at once she was a teary eyed whirl of impossible to face, and difficult emotions to understand.

Settling back among her pillows Calliope who was determined not to cry allowed her eyes to fall closed concentrating on the gentle sounds of her room, and the hallway just beyond it. After a while the plip, plip, plip, of her IV had, in a comforting metronome like fashion had come to pace the even intervals of her breathing. People murmured somewhere outside but their discontented words had nothing to do with her. Drowning them out she focused on easing her breath, clearing her head, willing herself to fall asleep.

Nights were difficult, the enveloping darkness suffocating as it fell over an unsuspecting world, threatening it with all manner of wickedness hidden and unseen. To combat this the teen had taken to sleeping with the lights on. It helped, if only slightly. Nothing could quite trick her mind into believing the world was as safe as it once was, but after the sun had vanished from the sky the truth was all the more evident. So perhaps trying to sleep now would be more fruitful, she reasoned, trying to disconnect from everything around her.

She would just begin to fade when annoying little thoughts started to invade her consciousness. Like gnats buzzing in her ears they whispered concerns far and wide from the battle for Andre to unkept promises she'd made to Bosco, they refused to leave her be. 

Tossing and turning fretfully as the rest she desperately craved failed to arrive Calli could find neither comfort nor relief. After trying one position for what seemed like an eternity Calliope would attempt another much to the same result the inevitable tears, and grunts of frustration emerging from her. Her eyes flying open in anger she glared the wall mounted clock with utter contempt. She'd been at it for over half an hour without any type of success to show for her efforts. The teen screamed into her pillow with a defeated rage. After purging her lungs the girl threw herself roughly to one side and immediately wished she hadn't.

Pain that ran from bladder to collarbone shot through her like a lightning bolt. After a few breathless moments of shock and jarring limbs Calli dared to expel a breath, only to gasp it right back in at the realization that this was the wrong thing to do. Unable to breathe either in or out for fear of exasperating the injury Calliope tried relaxing her body all at once only to find that again it only made things worse. Clenching up was the automated response which followed as the teen felt around for the call button. Finding it she slammed her thumb against the red indicator repeatedly with desperation.

The knowledge that she might have messed something up internally or ruined the life saving handy work of the surgical team only added to her anxiety and made the fiery pains seem all the more extreme.

When Helena arrived Calliope was crying with a strange gulping motion too afraid to move as each attempt brought the pain jolting back with vivid clarity and vengeance where lying perfectly still helped in margins. The nurse surveyed the situation and checked Calli's chart over with precision and aptitude as she worked, getting only a few animalistic grunts and groans from the patient in question. Retrieving some morphine Helena fed it into the girl's drip. 

Warmth that started at the teen's toes slowly began to flow up her body until it had seeped into every bone and tissue. Calliope reveled in the warm submersive sensation for a few minutes enjoying the tingling sensation it gave her as it battled against her discomfort wiping it quickly away.

"I," Calli started, moving gingerly into a more comfortable position. "I rolled over too quickly." she explained.

"It's alright, you were due your pain killers soon anyway," the older woman with the long grey-white mane of hair smiled adjusting Calli's dosing schedule accordingly. "You just need to be a bit more careful." At this Calliope nodded with silent agreement. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The girl smiled sheepishly, "Well, I actually have to pee really bad now, but my legs feel like jelly."

Helena laughed, "Morphine will do that to you!"

Accepting help to the restroom Calliope looked at herself in the mirror and grinned crookedly, she looked like she'd just survived a natural disaster. Her hair was frayed and sticking out at unusual angles, her face was pale, but eyes red and slightly swollen from her battle against tears, and she was leaning against her IV pole like it was a walking stick. Finding humor at last in her situation the girl gave a laugh before shuffling on.

Finishing up in the bathroom Calli was helped into bed, a deep drowsy feeling washing over her. "Thank you Helena." she mumbled to the quietly shutting door. 

Closing her eyes and willing sleep to take her once more it was only after a few moments that the paradoxical thrill of fear rather than peace raced through the girl's body tinging her veins with a flush of adrenaline. The nightmares. They came every time Calliope dared rest, her groggy, fumbling mind made sluggish by the drugs was slow to realize the self preservation of her inability to sleep. 

In a way her subconscious was trying to safeguard her by refusing to allow her rest. Something she was always in some part aware of, but never seemed to acknowledge until on the brink. It was like knowing a movie was scary but not realizing how afraid you really are until you're in bed alone. Now heavy limbed with dull muted senses there was scarcely anything to tether her to this reality, this unsettling knowledge and foreboding found its way to the forefront of Calli's mind.

The nightmares and dreams would come in unyielding waves one after the other crashing against her mind and washing away any semblance of self and safety the girl had left like the roar of the sea eroding the cliff upon which it breaks. Always it seemed, they'd been there, every time she'd drifted off, just waiting for her behind her eyelids, the men who'd tried to kill her.

They hadn't said much during the attack, not even to each other, but the cold cruelty of their laugher would come to mingle with the iniquity that night brought, giving them voice in her dreams. Oh the things they said to her and the sorrows they wrought upon her body their bonds inescapable, their hands fiery and probing. Ever in that realm were they able to reek out the vile havoc they had so sadistically planned for her in life. Ever did ruin and corrupt her already fragile form, and extinguish all light in her mind.

Calliope let out a sob, she was tired, tired of being scared, and tired of being tired. All she wanted was for it all to go away and let her get some rest, but now with medication in her system the rest would be too deep, and she'd be trapped, unable to come out if her mind took a detour down one of it's darker, newly paved avenues. Self loathing and despise came to mingle with the already toxic blend of emotions and thoughts inside the girl. Why did she have to be so stupid? And not just now with throwing herself about, but with everything? Why couldn't she have stayed put, or skipped her charity? Why? Why? All she was, was a lone ship in a troubled sea of whys and what ifs.

A frightful whimpering began to tumble in fleeting bouts from the teenager's lips, enraging the spite she already felt at her own weakness. Handling the remote control with no small semblance of coordination Calliope managed to turn on the television, flipping through the channels in an attempt to find something occupying, and engaging for her brain to focus on. Even then, just as before nothing seemed to work. Calli felt heavy and slow, imagining that she looked like a sloth trying to right itself.

Her hand flying out as she resigned herself to sleep Calli waved the limb like an antenna until she found it. The nightstand. Running her fingers over it's smooth face she furrowed a brow. It didn't feel right, didn't feel as it should have. It was made of pressed wood with a vinyl finish making it look like a plank of solid wood without the texture. 

There was a simplistic comfort she found in it, though a comfort she could neither justify nor explain. All she knew was that it didn't feel like it was meant to, like she'd want it to, but the idea of its perfect tactile sensation was what helped her. It was like something of a daydream, or fantasy only half remembered, but whatever it was, it was good, and safe, and just the act of imagining it was there, well, it made things a little bit more bearable. 

Drifting off at last Calliope imagined that she was rubbing something similar to polished wood, something with ruts and divits, something with a square like shape if it had rounded corners. She couldn't help but feel that whatever it was she was imagining it was something living, but all that mattered was it was something that made her feel safe, this obscure object only half remembered.


	5. Chapter 5

The girl was back again. At least, the person Mikey liked to think of as a girl was back again, and she'd done something miraculous. 

For several years now the seemingly carefree and rabble rousing brother of the quartet had a dark secret, only 'dark' wasn't exactly how he would describe it. In fact, his work was usually far from the word, it was vibrant, wild, and contemporary. After honing his skills as a warrior, perfecting his artistic flair had seemed next to impossible. It began with some simple rebellious tagging, a way to leave his mark on a world that was otherwise oblivious to his very existence but now it had become something more, an extension of himself, in a way.

Flying through pen-names faster than you could bat an eye, in the beginning he'd more than left his mark up and down New York city and even parts of the surrounding counties and districts. From calling himself "m-I-key," and "Mike-lo," to "M1-ikey," looking back with a rueful reminisce the teenager couldn't believe how stupid he must have looked spraying his aliases everywhere, trying to perfect his bubble and box lettering.

Now a days, Mikey refrained from tagging unless he felt it absolutely necessary. He'd evolved from the attention seeking kid stuck in a rut, emulating the work of others all the while wishing for someone to recognize his own potential, into a young adult who knew who he was and allowed his artistic side to flourish. From train yards, to buildings, billboards, and underpasses so much of this city held his work and displayed it with such, either, apparent pride or a serious lack in high powered hoses, that he'd started to look at it less like an obstacle course full of hidden danger and more like a gallery with canvas still to be transformed, and in this gallery each of his works he proudly, if ironically, signed Michelangelo.

Besides, Mikey thought as he scaled the support beams for a better look, they all had to have something to keep them from going up the walls or snapping. Don had his tinkering, and Leo had his meditation, and stick up the butt collection, which he was working on pretty intently lately. In fact it had taken a lot of doing and a deal with the devil, which in this case, most cases really, meant Raph to get him out of the sewers and laying paint. 

Thinking about it curiously the turtle cocked his head to one side. Raph had to have something he did when he was alone, Michelangelo was sure of it, he just hadn't to figured it out yet, which was infuriating. The only reason Raphael knew about his baby brother's hobby and top side excursions due to the fact that he was an egotistical hothead with trust issues and followed Mikey one night, but still, that didn't explain much.

Now with the addition of Casey Jones to the team, finding time away was becoming more and more difficult as the turtles' world had took a drastic and unexpected turn into unfamiliar territory. It was just plain bizarre. Having April in the lair, and bumming around the Basement was one thing, she was of conceivable use and didn't really get in the way by going into the field, but the newly introduced, brash, stick wielding meat head? The least Mikey could say for him, was that he had a good sense of humor.

They had, had to up their training considerably, learn Casey's style and how to anticipate his actions and reactions. It was taxing and made short fuses of everyone as trial and error proved more disastrous than any could have expected. Splinter was always fast to redirect the tension into constructive means though, reminding the brothers that they didn't always know how to work as one, while relating such teamwork to his sportsmanship and family on the ice to the human interloper. The first to admit it Mikey could see some big improvement. They were getting better, and while Jones had been ready to jump into the fray immediately the others could feel the time nearing, he just hoped the intel was good.

Struck with a dull frustration the boy shook such thoughts from his mind. This was supposed to be his time, he was supposed to be enjoying himself not dwelling on training and future battles. He should have been appreciating the girl's beautiful work, and the complete mural overhaul instead of lying there on the cross beam, can poised in hand yet to be used. 

Disgruntled and annoyed with himself the orange clad ninja closed his eyes and took a few deep, cleansing breaths. He'd been working on a massive project that decorated the underside of an old bridge in an industrial complex. 

Spanning with shadowed images of skyline made reminiscent of teeth, a blood red sun hung over abstract, demonic representations of immorality and greed which devoured a helpless women and her two children. All the while a flashy hot rod drove by and people whose faces were distorted with their own self involvement, mirrors in their hands, walked passed oblivious to the carnage as they could see only themselves.

Mikey had almost forgotten what had inspired his uncharacteristicly dark rendition of New York city, but the emotions still lingered, like a wound to his soul. He hadn't been there when it happened, hadn't seen it, and couldn't have prevented it, which perhaps is what made the pain so palatable; but something in the news report about the woman and kids gunned down in a broad daylight mugging had stayed with him. 

The story had been presented, in a cold, unfeeling manner, slid between a political report, and a fluff piece, the anchor monotonous. There'd been no leads, regardless of the very public manner in which the crime had taken place. No one had wanted to get involved, many witnesses staying back waiting for someone else to call for an ambulance as they murmured amongst themselves. Then came the vial videos someone had paused to record, a part of the herd mentality of the onlookers, rather than actually helping the family as they died. The icing on the irony cake was that those videos and their camera men got more media coverage and attention than the three fragile lives which had been taken in the blink of an eye.

It had made the artist sick, sick to the very core.

Fueled by rage, and sorrow, and despair he had found this hard to reach spot determined to put a face to humanity's evil. Where he didn't typically mind outside additions from other artists or taggers, incorporating their work into his own, this piece however, he wanted to be a pure extension of his anger and inability to understand the frailty of compassion in human society. Or so he'd thought until he opened his eyes and saw up close what the girl had done with it.

She only ever seemed to spray ballerinas. Everywhere in white tutus with tight black buns, the same pale figure in different poses and settings. The unknown artist had started stalking him in a sense, adding her dancers to his work periodically, sometimes changing the landscape, theme, or title of his works. Like with all other painters Mikey had respected her art, complimenting it, making it fit, until the day he'd added combat boots to one. The next time he returned to check his piece the whole thing was overrun with ballerinas in boots and helmets wielding semi-automatics as they leapt, twirled, and shot one another down. The title "Audition Day" at the bottom.

He'd come to respect her, and her pension for working in the same risky places he did a great deal more after that, but this was something wholly different. 

This ballerina wore a white feathery crown and a pair of wings on her back. The road his hot rod raced on breaking off into musical notes upon which she danced, pastels where contrasting bolds once reigned. The merciful dancer's arms elegantly outstretched were pulling the would be victims from the monsters' gaping maws, a light and radiance shining from her and enveloping the family. From the sun now blinding white with illumination could be seen with the hand of God descending to take his children home. "Saving Grace," was apparently the work's new title, sprayed in an eloquent cursive hand.

Joy, relief, and a self ridicule for not seeing such a potential for beauty in the world, coursed through the young man. The deep burning sorrow he'd clung onto clashed against the bittersweet of essence of the imagery before him until it all bubbled up to the surface overwhelming him in a sea of tears. There was something innately powerful at play here, something he felt deep in the seat of his heart that was akin to redemption.

For ages Mikey had heard his father speak of artwork like this, moving, powerful, and raw in such a way that it stayed with you. It was why he'd named them as he had, memories of soul changing artistry had remained with him even through death and reincarnation. Yet somehow this was different. As close to a religious experience as Michelangelo had ever come, this realization that not everything was as dark and vile as it could sometimes appear to be he wept long and hard, gripped with a spiritual awakening the turtle had never expected to encounter. He found himself believing for the first time that there could be a God, even if it was in a desperate need for self assurance.

Listening then to the metallic clatter of the marble ricocheting off the canister walls as he shook the metallic cylinder Mikey felt unusually clean and refreshed even if his eyes were swollen and his body ached from crying. His whole outlook had shifted. This was no longer a mural depicting his sorrow at the world's cruelty, but the memorial work for a mother and her children who died tragically, which was what he knew deep down it should have been from the start.

There was only one thing he could think to add to it, inching towards the bottom of the piece where the title lay he sprayed, "In memory of the Whitlow family. May you rest in peace and love.  
-Michelangelo"

Waiting until he felt a bit more composed, the sharp lingering odor of fresh paint in his nostrils, the teen started descending the supports of the bridge. He was partway down when his fingers brushed against something. Curious, he shimmied lower to gain a better view. Wedged above the bolt in a seam that hadn't been fully welded closed was a piece of folded paper. Mikey reached for it, but his inhuman fingers were too large to fit. Trying with his nails proved much to the same result. Irritated but sure the message, whatever it was, was for him, seeing as he was fairly sure people didn't climb twenty feet into the air without reason Mikey was determined to retrieve the slip.

Getting down the turtle scoured the area until he located a stick. Ascending the pillar and traversing to the beams again he, with some effort, managed to dislodge the paper, smiling with a sense of victory when he had. Unfolding it he was rewarded with a note penned in looping pink handwriting.

"Things can seem pretty bad sometimes, hopeless even, but there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. The important thing is that you don't let the world change you. Take it from someone who has been where you're at now: Things get better. Sometimes all you need is to find a little patch of color to hold onto, and sometimes you just need a friend to set you straight. 

I like you even though I don't know you, and I like your work, it's been a big inspiration to me from day one. So keep your chin up, and your creativity flowing, I'm rooting for you!

Your loyal fan and fellow graffiti artist, the Ballerina Girl"

Mikey lingered for a moment, a warm, broad smile expanding over his face as butterflies wrecked havoc in his gut. The closest thing to a review of anything he'd done or even his style was when Raph had followed him, and even then it was less than encouraging, being described as looking like, "a dog ate a bunch of crayons and then exploded." The notion of the mysterious and unknown girl complementing him, and even creating such beauty with him, was almost, in his adolescent mind, like having a secret girlfriend.

Heaving a joyful sigh and shouldering his backpack full of paints, the boy shrugged off the notion of leaving a reply. Mikey just wasn't good with words, besides it felt awkward thinking about what to say, so he put on his headphones, and dropped his board. Skating for home, color and imagery flooded his mind with each note. Already Michelangelo was planning out the next big project, and it was going to be one for the ages.


End file.
